


Going out with a splash

by orphan_account



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Character Undeath, Suicide Attempt, i was feeling shitty and descided to take it out on him, mark pulls a gatsby, sorry mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Actor Mark attempts to test the power of the mansion. Before the events of Who Killed Markiplier





	Going out with a splash

A body floated down, water exploding up past it. He felt his spine smash into the bottom of the pool, painfully snapping his head forward. Feeling the last air bubbles escaping his lips and water rushing down his throat before everything went blank. Thank god, drowning usually took an agonizing amount of time, but the broken spine had done him in quickly. Then came the familiar Nothing, with a capital N. Not cold like you would expect. Warm, comforting, strangely familiar, like clothes fresh out of the dryer. Time didn’t exist here, couldn’t be measured. But it felt all too soon when a cold hand ran its way up his back, snapping his spine back into place, flushing the water out of his lungs, pushing in air.  
He opened his eyes  
It didn’t sting, not at first. It was peaceful, watching the water ripple from below, sunbeams flickers across the bottom of the pool. The surface seemed still, the splash of him jumping in had long ago worn itself out.  
Calm. Serine.  
His red robe floated up around him, tangled with his limbs. Dark hair calmly waving in and out of his vision like seaweed. Tranquil really. The rope wrapped around his waist was tightly cinched around a brick, scraping the tiles of the floor, digging into his side.  
The sedated mood slowly lifted, like coming out of a deep sleep. It hasn’t worked. He had failed. He was Alive.  
Shit.  
The chlorine stung his ears and eyes as his body involuntary jolted to life. Thoughts were burning up with animalistic panic. Gagged on the lungful of air, survival instincts kicked into full gear. Agonizingly slow, drunken hands scrabbled for the knot in the rope. Cursing himself for tying it so tight earlier that day, he slipped out, scraping his hips on the rough edge of the brick. The ladder was too far away, limbs scrambled desperately for the slick tiled wall instead.  
After adrenaline-filled moments, the surface of the pool water broke as a hand grasped the edge and pulled a body after it. Thin, tired, beaten. Alive only in the medical sense. No scrap of soul reminded; it was obvious from looking at the figure on its knees coughed up lungfuls of water with a thousand-yard stare. Any hope within had drowned long ago.  
The figure rose shakily to its feet. Mark Iplier, for that was its name, noticed with mild dismay that one of his black slippers had fallen off, and now rested soggily at the bottom of the pool. He would ask Benjamin to fish it out later, along with the rope and brick. He would make some kind of excuse, an exercise of strength perhaps, or a form of method acting for an upcoming role.  
He squelched up the pathway, along the balcony, and into the house; ignoring the puddles of footprints he left behind. It might have been humorous from an outsider's perspective, but the way the household held its collective breath when he entered was unsettling. He stormed past the kitchen where the chef was preparing a meal. Past the butler, past faceless servants, refusing to look into the mirror that hung in the hallway. He didn’t want to see that face that would look back. the fear that he might not recognise it was too great. Fiddling absentmindedly with his hands, twisting an invisible wedding ring as he stalked down the halls. It was going to be another long week.


End file.
